


Sweet Certainty

by NamelesslyNightlock



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Attraction, Bathing/Washing, Bickering, Canon-Typical Violence, Crusades Era Joe | Yusuf al-Kaysani & Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Cuddling & Snuggling, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Happy Ending, Huddling For Warmth, Hurt Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Idiots in Love, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani Gets a Hug, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani Needs a Hug, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani Waxes Poetic About Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani is an Incurable Romantic, Kissing, Laughter, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Origin Story, Panic, Pining, Protective Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Protective Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Romantic Fluff, Sharing Body Heat, Snowball Fight, Soft Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Soft Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Staring, Temporary Character Death, Worried Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Worried Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:21:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26773576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NamelesslyNightlock/pseuds/NamelesslyNightlock
Summary: “Nicolò,” Yusuf said, his voice turning hard. “You have not washed in weeks. If you do not get into the water right now, I will kill you, then I will throw your corpse in the lake and wash it myself.”…or, five times Yusuf convinced Nicolò to join him, and one time he didn’t have to.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 71
Kudos: 754





	Sweet Certainty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SalamanderInk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SalamanderInk/gifts), [Rabentochter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rabentochter/gifts).



> **SalamanderInk** suggested that I write something based on [this song.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wk008ADh4iY) **Rabentochter** challenged me to write a 5+1 in less than 2k words. In the end I managed to do exactly neither of those things, but they both had a hand in inspiring this and _definitely_ encouraged the writing of it, so—thank you both ❤︎  
> 

1  
_—travelling_

Yusuf couldn't say _why_ he did it.

By all accounts, he should be glad that the Frank wanted to leave, that he didn’t want to travel together anymore. Yusuf _should_ be excited to be rid of him.

But he…wasn’t. When Nicolò had said that he needed to go, that he didn’t think travelling together was a good idea anymore, Yusuf had immediately hurried forward, stepping around the other man and forcing him to stop in his tracks. 

“Nicolò, please wait,” Yusuf said, hating the way that his voice sounded almost hoarse. “You’re being rash. It’s beneficial for us to travel together, and you know it.”

The Frank continued to stare straight forward—quite a feat, actually, considering Yusuf had managed to position himself almost exactly in front of him.

“Stop ignoring me, I know you can understand. You were speaking Occitan perfectly fine last week. We were _getting along_ perfectly fine last week.”

Of course, that was _last week,_ before Nicolò had suddenly gone all quiet and broody, almost back to how he had been when they’d left Jerusalem together.

It had been some months since then—things between them had been tumultuous at first, given the horrific circumstances in which they had met, but they had both come to the conclusion that there was no point in continuing on as they were, and that neither of their peoples would accept them if they went back. It was safer to leave—and safest to leave together.

Save for, of course, the fact that they had each killed each other several times.

But, that was all in the past. They’d found a common language, they’d become civil, a _trust_ grew between them. They might not have particularly _liked_ the other man, but they knew that they could count on each other. Things were going _fine—_

Until Nicolò announced his intentions of leaving, and Yusuf felt a panic rise in his throat that he couldn’t quite make heads or tails of.

It must have just been that he didn’t want to be left alone. That was all.

“Nicolò, _please,”_ Yusuf said, darting forward as Nicolò tried to step around him, grasping the other man’s arm in his hand. He caught Nicolò’s gaze and held it just as firmly, trying to make him see how much he needed this. “Don’t go.”

There was a long moment where Nicolò’s face remained stoic, where Yusuf was sure that he would be given another no – or be stabbed in the gut – but then—

“ _Fine,”_ Nicolò said. “If that’s what you— _fine.”_

Yusuf blinked. He hadn’t expected it to be that easy. “Really?”

“If it will stop you from jumping around me like—a little bird—” Nicolò cut himself off, but Yusuf just grinned.

“ _Excellent_.” He tried to ignore the fierceness of the joy that rose in him. He was just _really_ glad to not be left entirely alone. Yes. “We _do_ make a great team, you know.”

Nicolò cast his eyes up to the sky, as if he were praying to his god for mercy.

Yusuf couldn’t help but grin, the smile fuelled with gladness at knowing that the Frank wasn’t about to leave him.

That he wouldn’t be alone—

That he wouldn’t be without Nicolò.

2  
_—bathing_

“It’s too _risky,”_ Nicolò was saying, his gaze darting through the trees as he spoke before resting back on Yusuf, who was standing waist-deep in the lake with his arms crossed over his chest. “You know the dangers of the road. Someone could come at us from behind, take everything we have.” 

Yusuf found it hard not to roll his eyes. “There is no one around for miles, and even if there were—we can see the horses and the packs from here. No one is going to rob us.”

“And if they _attack_ us first?” Nicolò asked.

“You think anyone is a match for us?”

“We’ve been beaten before. And am I right in assuming that you are not planning on taking your sword into the water with you?”

“Nicolò,” Yusuf said, his voice turning hard. “You have not washed in weeks. If you do not get into the water right now, _I_ will kill you, then I will throw your corpse in the lake and wash it myself.”

Nicolò glared, but reluctantly began to take off his sword belt. Yusuf nodded sharply, and began to focus on washing himself once more.

The water was cold, raising gooseflesh all over his body. They’d travelled north into Europe, and winter was well on its way. But by Allah, if it calmed the _scent_ that he’d been travelling alongside for weeks now, then any amount of freezing would be worth it.

However… when Nicolò started to take off his clothes, Yusuf realised that perhaps… he hadn’t quite thought this all the way through.

Yusuf knew that he shouldn’t have watched as Nicolò stripped off his many layers, but he had already been turned in that direction, and once Nicolò had started… well, it was near _impossible_ to look away.

Nicolò was pale, and his body was dotted with scars received in the fighting before he had been struck all the way down for the first time. He was muscled, though not overly so—but it was the way that he _moved_ which caught Yusuf’s attention the most. Lithe, careful, _graceful,_ as if every action were as carefully plotted as when he was wielding his blade. The sight was mesmerising. Addicting.

In that moment, he couldn’t help but wonder what it might be like to run his hands over that skin, to feel the rise of the scars, the warmth that would surely take the bite out of the cool air.

There was a slight chance that Yusuf might have got a little lost in his thoughts, because he didn’t notice Nicolò staring back until—

“What?” Nicolò snapped. Despite the shock of his focus being jarred back to reality, Yusuf tried not to let his eyes wander along the edge of the blush that blossomed across Nicolò’s skin. “Look, I’m moving as fast as I can, just give me a minute.”

Yusuf swallowed, and forced himself to look away, doing his best to ignore the heat that had begun to rise up inside him.

3  
_—sleeping_

Yusuf had been right about winter being on its way—but he had not predicted quite how _cold_ it was going to get.

As the son of a merchant, Yusuf had spent plenty of time aboard ships, and he thought he knew what it was to be cold. But about _that,_ he certainly had been wrong.

There was something truly horrible about the way that cold could leach through the skin, could inch past the muscles and settle deep into the bones. Yusuf had never felt anything like it, and he truly did not know how to cope.

He almost fell from his horse when they stopped for the night, his feet stumbling as they landed in the thin sheet of snow. The skin across his face felt tight, and his fingers stung as he tried to light a fire. He then huddled under every coat and blanket he had, as close to the fire as he dared.

“Are you all right?”

Yusuf glanced up at the sound of Nicolò’s voice, staring for a moment before he could fully comprehend the question.

“ _Freezing,”_ he answered, barely able to get the word past his chattering teeth. What would it be like to freeze to death, he wondered? Would it be easier than dying on the end of a sword? How long would it take?

Nicolò’s expression softened, and without a word he moved to place the blanket in his hands over the one that Yusuf was already clutching.

“No,” Yusuf said, pushing the blanket away despite wishing dearly for more warmth. “ _You_ need it.”

He didn’t want Nicolò to freeze, as well.

It seemed, however, that Nicolò was having similar thoughts—similar, but opposite. “You’re not used to this weather,” he said.

“And you are?” Yusuf shot back, his anger warming him enough to fuel his words. “Genova is on the Mediterranean—”

“But colder than you said it gets in Mahdia.” Nicolò shook his head. “I will be fine. And besides, if I do freeze to a ball of ice, you will only need to dig me out in the morning.”

Yusuf huffed. “Not funny.”

“No? Well, either way, there is no sense in us both freezing. One blanket is not enough.” Nicolò tried to put the blanket over Yusuf again—

But this time, Yusuf caught his hand.

Once again, he couldn’t quite say what it was that made him do it—save for the pure _ache_ in his chest at the thought of Nicolò feeling any kind of suffering.

_One blanket is not enough._

Well.

There was _one_ way to solve that problem.

Yusuf tightened his grip on Nicolò’s arm.

_“Stay.”_

Nicolò’s eyes widened, though only slightly. Yusuf could barely see the difference in the shadows of the trees and the light of the fire, only able to tell due to the familiarity he had earned from watching Nicolò so carefully over the past months.

“Are you… asking me to join you?” Nicolò asked.

Yusuf drew in a short breath. He wasn’t sure why Nicolò would be so opposed. It was for survival, nothing more. There was little doubt that Nicolò had needed to sleep in close quarters with other men before, given his history.

“It will be warmer,” Yusuf explained simply.

“It’s my turn to keep watch.” Nicolò’s argument was weak, his tone reluctant. And Yusuf rather thought that the reluctance had something more to do with a reluctance to _go,_ rather than to stay.

Although, Yusuf couldn’t think of a reason why Nicolò shouldn’t stay. Well—there was the one niggling thought in his own mind, that twisting snake of a desire which had begun to writhe harder the more Yusuf tried to repress it. But he was sure he’d hidden it well. He was sure Nicolò didn’t _know._

So—

“You won’t be able to keep watch if you’re dead,” Yusuf pointed out. “Come on, you can stay awake if you must, just—come here.”

Nicolò seemed to consider for another moment—but then he nodded, and lowered himself and his blanket down to the ground. It seemed like there was still a touch of hesitancy as he lifted the edge of Yusuf’s blanket to join him under it, but as Nicolò shifted closer, Yusuf recognised the slow movements not as hesitancy, but as gentleness.

Nicolò was being _careful,_ and that… somehow, warmed Yusuf almost more than the second blanket did.

It took a few minutes for them to find a comfortable position. The blankets were designed for use by a single person, so they had to press close to both fit underneath them. In the end, they both lay on their side, Nicolò facing outward from the fire and Yusuf’s chest pressing against his back. It was more comfortable than Yusuf might have expected—

And, more importantly, Yusuf was no longer _cold._

As he drifted off with his nose pressed to the back of Nicolò’s warm neck, Yusuf realised that Nicolò had made sure that Yusuf was between him and the fire—still keeping watch, and still keeping them both safe.

4  
_—laughing_

Once you get over the fact that it’s cold and it’s wet, snow can actually be quite entertaining.

Yusuf had never seen the stuff before, but it didn’t take him very long to work out how to have fun with it.

For example, after a snowfall, the snow stuck on top of branches—and if such a branch were _tugged_ in a certain way, Yusuf learned that it would—

_“Yusuf—”_

Yusuf was glad he was wearing a recently-purchased scarf over his mouth, as it was a lot easier to hide his smile at the slew of Genoese curses.

“Apologies, Nicolò,” Yusuf said, _just_ managing to keep the laugh out of his tone. “I did not realise you were so close behind me!”

Nicolò stopped cursing, but he was still frowning as he took off his hood and shook the snow out of it. Yusuf didn’t bother stopping himself from smiling fondly as he watched.

As well as the way that it stuck to branches, there was another thing that Yusuf discovered about snow—and that was how well it stuck to _itself_.

Yusuf didn’t really have an excuse as to _how_ he discovered this, save for the fact that Nicolò’s expression at being caught off guard _had_ been rather hilarious, and Yusuf had been rather keen to see such a thing again.

So, he bent down, dug his gloved fingers into the snow and picked up a handful—and as he tightened his grip, the soft powder turned into something of a rather well-shaped missile. Not quite an arrow, but perfect for _throwing._

Yusuf grinned to himself, made another, and then turned to his companion. Nicolò was attempting to start a fire—he wasn’t as good at it as Yusuf, but he _had_ been learning. He was bent over his somewhat shapely pile of sticks, the flint clicking sparklessly in his hands, his _very_ shapely behind pointed rather helpfully in Yusuf’s direction.

Yusuf tossed his first missile up and down a couple of times, took careful aim, and then—

The snow slammed into the curve of Nicolò’s ass, and Nicolò spun around with the speed of a viper.

Nicolò stared at Yusuf with surprise stretched across his expression—then his eyes darted to the second ball of snow that Yusuf held in his hands.

“Okay,” Nicolò said. “The first time, I could have mistaken this as an accident. But a second time, and seeing that you are planning a _third?”_

Nicolò took a step forward, his eyes dark and spitting fire far more effectively than the flint had been moments earlier.

Yusuf’s smile grew wider.

“If you _think,”_ Nicolò said, reaching for a weapon of his own, “That you can start a snowball fight with a man from Genova and still come out on top, then you shall find yourself _very_ mistaken. Now—defend yourself!”

Yusuf threw himself to the side as Nicolò’s skilfully crafted snowball hurtled toward him, just narrowly avoiding a hit to the face. He scrambled at the ground for more ammunition, but Nicolò was far more practiced and a lot faster. Nicolò _pelted_ him with snow, missile after missile slamming into him—

Until Yusuf gave up his attempts at flinging the snow back and simply tackled Nicolò around the waist, throwing him into the snow that way.

When they hit the ground, Yusuf grinned, his hands either side of Nicolò’s shoulders.

“What was that you said about winning?” Yusuf asked.

“I don’t believe I’ve lost,” Nicolò replied—

And just as Yusuf was about to ask what he meant, Nicolò’s hand came up between them and shoved a pile of snow into Yusuf’s face.

Yusuf swore and rolled to the side, scrubbing the freezing snow from his face, but he was still smiling as he turned to face Nicolò again—and Nicolò?

Nicolò was _laughing._

His eyes were sparkling with a kind of light that Yusuf hadn’t seen before, a wide smile stretching across his lips. The laugh was light and infectious, and Yusuf found himself laughing again along with him.

And, by now, Yusuf knew _exactly_ why his heart skipped a beat at the sight of Nicolò’s smile. He knew exactly why he’d decided to throw snow at his companion after a tiring day—he knew why the sound of Nicolò’s happiness had felt like the greatest prize he ever could have received.

Oh yes, he _knew_.

And he also no longer cared to dispute it.

5  
_—living_

“No, no, no,” Yusuf groaned, blood soaking through his trousers as he fell to his knees, trembling hands reaching for the cold cheeks of the corpse on the ground, but not quite able to bring himself to touch. “You _idiot,_ why would you—Nicolò, wake up, _please—”_

There was something about Nicolò’s empty eyes that cut right down deep to the core, the grey looking dull and blank instead of filled with its usual warmth and light. They sat deep in his pale face, wide and unseeing, staring up at the newly grown canopy of the trees. 

It wasn’t the first time that Yusuf had seen Nicolò dead. But it _was_ the first time that he had seen Nicolò killed by a hand other than his own—as well as the first time that it had _hurt_ so very much.

“Please,” Yusuf whispered, laying one trembling hand against Nicolò’s cheek. He forced himself not to look at the bloodied wound in Nicolò’s chest, which he knew would be all the more torn from when Nicolò had ripped the arrow out himself—

The arrow that had been aimed at Yusuf.

“ _Please.”_ His voice was breaking, shattered. “Come on, Nicolò, come back to me. Wake _up,_ I _need_ you—”

Nicolò woke with a sudden gasp, lifting his head so quickly that he slammed his skull against Yusuf’s. Yusuf bit down a curse of pain, but—the pain was nothing compared to the way that his entire body relaxed with the force of the world falling back into place.

“Nicolò,” he groaned, one hand returning to the side of Nicolò’s face while the other clutched at his damp tunic.

“I’m all right,” Nicolò said, his voice hoarse and his eyes still a little wide from the ordeal of death and resurrection—but his words were gentle. “It’s all right, Yusuf. I’m here.”

Yusuf let out a soft sound which could only be described as a whine, and he leaned down over Nicolò to press his head to Nicolò’s bloody shoulder. The relief that poured through his very soul felt strong enough to fell an entire army, and he knew that he was still shaking.

He felt one of Nicolò’s hands run through his hair, the other pressing into the small of his back to hold him close.

“I would not want to leave you,” Nicolò whispered. Then his tone lightened. “How could I, with you pleading for me to wake up? It’s surprising, I thought you might have taken the opportunity to give me a bath instead.”

A short laugh made its way up Yusuf’s throat, and he lifted his head to stare at Nicolò in disbelief. This man had just _died—_ he’d suffered an arrow to the heart, had torn it along with a big chunk of his own muscle out of his flesh and then killed the man who had shot it before finally falling to the ground. Once he had killed the other two men who had ambushed them, Yusuf had turned to find Nicolò still alive, still suffering, and had cried out as he saw the light leave Nicolò’s eyes. Nicolò had suffered, _died,_ come back—and now, instead of focusing on his own healing… he was trying to make _Yusuf smile._

Nicolò was so unlike anyone that Yusuf had ever met before, so filled with kindness and genuine _goodness_ that it made Yusuf’s breath catch.

And in the end, it wasn’t a decision that he made, it wasn’t a conscious choice. Being so close to Nicolò, emotions running so high, Yusuf did not think at all—he simply leaned down and pressed their lips together, drawing Nicolò into a soft and unasked for kiss.

+1  
_—loving_

The moment Yusuf realised what he had done, he immediately tore himself from Nicolò and scrambled backward over the ground.

His heart was pounding in his chest, his throat tight with horror. He knew that he must look like a picture of regret, and he tried to school his expression—but Nicolò was staring at him with eyes as wide as saucers, and Yusuf knew that he needed to say _something._

“I am sorry,” Yusuf said—first in Arabic, and then again in clumsy Genoese. “I’m _sorry._ I should not have done that, I wasn’t—”

“Yusuf,” Nicolò said. His smile was soft, and when he continued, it was in a broken mix of Arabic and Genoese and Occitan which Yusuf understood without a problem, Nicolò managing to weave together the words in a way that made more sense to the pair of them than if he had used one single language as it was meant to be spoken. “Please, don’t apologise. You never have to apologise to me, not for that.”

Nicolò shifted closer, and Yusuf felt like every movement spelled his fate. But despite the way that he felt like the world was once again falling apart at the seams, Yusuf found that his muscles were as frozen as the snow they had played with weeks before.

“You haven’t tried to run away from me since the beginning,” Nicolò continued. “Please don’t start doing it again now. Just… stay still.”

Nicolò went to move closer again, reaching out with a hand that just hovered beside Yusuf’s cheek, as if it were his turn to be afraid to touch despite having slept pressed close together for months.

“I’m sorry,” Yusuf choked out one more time, hating the clench in his chest. “Just, Nicolò, please—”

“Yusuf, as much as I love your words,” Nicolò said, expression almost exasperatedly fond, “I think this is actually one time that I would like for you to stay quiet.”

Yusuf frowned. Was Nicolò not even going to give him the chance to ask him to stay? “But—”

“I said,” Nicolò repeated, his tone softly amused as he leaned forward yet again, his hand finally cupping Yusuf’s cheek. “ _Quiet.”_

The last word was breathed over Yusuf’s skin, and then pressed to his lips in a gentle kiss. Yusuf’s lips parted in surprise, but Nicolò only pressed against him more tightly, their mouths sliding together as if that was what the pair of them had been born to do. The feel of it surged through Yusuf’s whole body, electrifying every nerve and frying every thought, until all he could think of was _Nicolò—_ and Yusuf held on to him well past point that his lungs began to burn for want of air.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time,” Nicolò whispered as they finally parted, still close enough that Yusuf felt the light shift of lips over his own. “For _months._ I thought you would never want me in the same way, I thought I would not be able to stand it.”

Yusuf leaned back. “No,” he said, his eyes widening as a months-old itch finally clicked into place. “Don’t tell me _that’s_ why you tried to leave those months ago—”

“As I said,” Nicolò whispered, holding Yusuf’s gaze as his fingers stroked over the line of Yusuf’s beard. “I did not think I would be able to stand it.”

“Nicolò,” Yusuf said, “You could have kissed me then, and I would have thought that the stars had come down from the heavens to bless me themselves. When I thought you were leaving, it was as if the world had gone cold. And I would prefer a _century_ of yearning at your side than to be parted from you forever.”

Nicolò’s eyes closed at that, and he shifted forward to lean their foreheads together, just as they had before. It was a comforting gesture, and Yusuf felt his own eyes close in response.

“I feel the same,” Nicolò replied. “I do not wish to be parted from you, either. And if you feel as I do… I would like to be able to hold you, to kiss you. If that’s something you want as well?”

“I thought you said earlier that you liked my words, but what’s the point in me saying them if you’re not going to _listen?_ ” Yusuf huffed. Perhaps the crack to Nicolò’s head from earlier had not yet healed—how could he imagine a world in which Yusuf did not want him? “Nicolò, you are my sun, my moon, my stars— _hayati._ I want nothing more than to be with you in every way, to love you exactly how you deserve.”

“I _am_ listening,” Nicolò promised. “Mæ memöia, you’ve become everything to me as well. You don’t need to ask me to stay with you, not anymore. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good,” Yusuf replied. “That’s definitely something that I want.”

Nicolò’s smile was warm, blinding—

And as he leaned forward to kiss those lips once again, Yusuf knew that he had never been more sure of anything in his life.

**Author's Note:**

> ~~And yes, there are a few dead bodies somewhere close by during that last scene, but I'm quite sure that neither of them particularly mind. Or... notice.~~


End file.
